Always With You
by bhoney
Summary: He awoke, injured and with no memory of who he was or how he’d gotten there. All he had to go on were nightmares of a hunter he’d been trying desperately to save. But were they nightmares…or were they memories? And who was the hunter in his dreams?
1. memory’s murky waters

_This story's a bit of an experiment for me. I'm trying out a couple of different things in terms of structure and storytelling. Because of that, I've deliberately kept some of the chapters very short, more like long drabbles than anything else. I hope you'll stick with me, though, and let me know what you think. Thanks go out to Stephen, for helping me find a supernatural that worked with the story I wanted to tell._

_Happy birthday, Swellison!! This is for you! Hope I did a good job working in all of your favorite things. *g* _

**Always With You**

I.

_Green scales flashed bright as emeralds in the strong afternoon sun. A shriek like ripping metal filled the air. Trees bent and snapped under wing-compressed wind. Eyes, blood red and ancient, glittered menace while a long tail sliced the sky. The enormous bird went into a dive, headed right for the hunter on the cliff._

He woke ready to scream a warning but waking slid the name from memory, a slippery frog in a five-year-old's hand, leaving only the sludge of desperation, despair.

Something was _very_ wrong, part of him missing.

Did he know the man on the cliff? He'd felt connected to him, frantic to _save him._ Yet, he didn't know his name, couldn't say what he'd looked like. When he tried to picture the hunter's face, blinding pain stole thought and memory sank again into deep waters that were murky as they were cold.

He followed it down.


	2. feels like home

_Thanks to Stephen, for listening. Happy birthday, Swellison!_

**Always With You**

II.

The next time he awoke, it was dark. He had no sense of place, caught in quiet so deep it muffled breath. His chest hurt with every inhale; burned each exhale like fire from his lungs. Dragons breathed fire. Had he been dreaming of dragons? No, that wasn't quite right. A bird. _Green scales flashed bright as emeralds in the strong afternoon sun. A shriek like ripping metal filled the air._

His head brimmed with pain. What was wrong with him? He _should_ know, but he just…didn't. His earliest memory was the dream. _Trees bent and snapped under wing-compressed wind. Eyes, blood red and ancient, glittered menace while a long tail sliced the sky. The enormous bird went into a dive, headed right for the hunter on the cliff. _He shuddered in recollection and agony ripped through his shoulders, stealing air; suffocating thought. A groan escaped the prison of his throat, the pain unbearable. Breath stuttered.

Then a hand on his arm, warm comfort. "Hey. Hey, man. _Easy,_ bro. You're okay. Just breathe through it. You're okay, I gotcha." Murmured reassurances from a voice that felt familiar…felt like _home._

Pain-tightened muscles instinctively loosened…and he slid once more into darkness.


	3. sacrifice made

_Thanks to everyone who's sticking with this "experimental" fic! Your reviews, alerts, and favorites of it have really been an encouragement._

**Always With You**

III.

The dream sank into him tooth and claw, dragging him into darkness sharp as knives.

_Green scales flashed bright as emeralds in the strong afternoon sun. A shriek like ripping metal filled the air. Trees bent and snapped under wing-compressed wind. Eyes, blood red and ancient, glittered menace while a long tail sliced the sky. The enormous bird went into a dive, headed right for the hunter on the cliff. _

_A warning exploded from his lips and he picked up speed, frantic to reach the hunter—his brother—before the creature did. Talons scraped the limestone cliff as it prepared to scoop up its prey, a grating nails-on-the-chalkboard screak that made his ears want to bleed. _

_He wasn't going to make it in time. _

_Desperate, he raised the crossbow in his hand, knowing he wouldn't make the kill shot from this distance, that the treated quarrel wouldn't penetrate the hard scales that covered the bird entirely, save for the area directly under its wings. Knowing, but clutching at any distraction that might save the other man's life. _

_He let the bolt fly. _

_Its aim was true and it struck the monstrous bird right on its head, between the antlers that sprouted there. It bounced off harmlessly, but the creature screeched in rage and veered toward him. Good. His brother would be safe. It was all that mattered. Protecting him was all there was._

_In his mad dash to save the other man, the quiver had been lost. The crossbow was useless without the additional bolts it contained, so he tossed the weapon aside and braced himself for impact. The impenetrable scales would protect the creature from anything else he could do now, anyway. The plan had been—well it didn't matter now, the plan was definitely out the window. _

_There was no point in trying to escape—the creature was too fast and the rocky cliff afforded no hiding places. He would stand his ground and hope he could keep the thing busy long enough for his brother to get away. He hollered at the other man to run, spared him a gaze he hoped would convey all the things he'd never been able to voice, the love and devotion he'd tried to show but never say. _

_The hunter stared back at him, horror and anguish twisting his features, and though the wild rush of wings was all he could hear, he knew his brother was screaming his name. He gave one last crooked smile then firmly planted his feet, eyes hardening as they moved back to the monster before him. At least he would go down fighting—a hunter, a _brother,_ to the end. It was all he'd ever asked for._

_The creature loomed ever closer, malevolent and terrible, jagged fangs dripping with saliva as it neared its prey, the too-human face twisted in fury and anticipation. The blood of previous victims matted its stringy beard and its prehensile tail whipped the air. Shining obsidian claws reached for him… _


	4. a voice in the dark

_I'm really enjoying hearing all your guesses as to which brother's which, and your thoughts on how the experiment's going. Thanks to everyone who's still along for the ride!_

**Always With You**

IV.

_He gave one last crooked smile then firmly planted his feet, eyes hardening as they moved back to the monster before him. At least he would go down fighting—a hunter, a _brother,_ to the end. It was all he'd ever asked for._

_The creature loomed ever closer, malevolent and terrible, jagged fangs dripping with saliva as it neared its prey, the too-human face twisted in fury and anticipation. The blood of previous victims matted its stringy beard and its prehensile tail whipped the air. Shining obsidian claws reached for him… _

He jerked in sleep, the sensation of claws sinking deep into his shoulders eliciting a cry of pain. His own hoarse voice woke him and he stared fuzzily around, trying to get his bearings, wondering why it was still so dark. Was it always dark here? Where _was_ here, anyway? And why couldn't he remember who he was or what had lead up to this point?

All he had to go on was the dream, if it _was_ just a dream. He was convinced now it was more. Pain from the creature's grip still clung to his shoulders, a phantom reflection of the monster; skin in that area tight and hot. So…a memory, then. _Something_ had happened to him. Incredible as it seemed, the dream fit—too vivid not to be real.

One glaring question answered; another just as disturbing remained. Who was he? He knew instinctively, with not-quite memory, he could load and fire a crossbow with eyes shut, that it wasn't the first time he'd faced down a nightmare come to life, and that he'd have gladly died to save the man on the cliff. His brother. He had a brother. Was that who'd been here before? Had to be. The other man's presence had reassured, calmed, quelled the panic inside.

He turned the new knowledge over in his mind. He was a brother. It fit, part of the missing piece clinking into place. A brother and a hunter of nightmare things. He felt its truth to the core of him. Brother. Hunter. Somehow he sensed it was everything he needed to know.

Distantly, he heard water running. A door shut softly. Then, a glass against his lips. "Here, man, drink this." The familiar voice was back. A hand gently lifted his head and cool water poured down his parched throat. "That's it, try to drink as much as you can. You've been pretty out of it; had a high fever. Don't wanna get dehydrated." The voice exuded concern and that felt…real. A bright lifeline of reality to cling to. Warmth spread throughout his chest, easing a little of the burn there. That voice let him know he belonged here, wherever _here_ was. It was enough for now.

He continued to drink miniscule amounts of water, mouth and throat demanding moisture, but body not up to the gulps he longed to take. The other man offered soft encouragement, patiently waiting while he took breaks to breathe, knowing intuitively when he was ready for more. He found himself assessing the murmured reassurances, confident he'd know if the hunter—his brother, he was sure of it—had been hurt, just by hearing his voice. But intently as he listened, he couldn't detect any resonance of pain, any hitched breaths indicating injury. He allowed himself to relax, urgency fading. He'd done it; he'd saved his brother. It was all that mattered. Anything else he could deal with.

"Done?"

He managed to nod, signaling he couldn't take more water just yet, and the glass was removed, his head lowered to the pillow. The change in altitude set it off; it began to throb and ache with fierceness that made what little he could see of the room swim. Why was it so dark, anyway?

Either he voiced the thought aloud or his brother knew him well enough to anticipate the question. "You've got a severe concussion. Light was hurting your eyes." The other man's voice was pitched carefully low, as if afraid of causing pain.

He nodded a little to show he understood, regretted even that much movement as bright spots flared to life before his eyes and the ache in his head crescendoed, steely claws sinking into his brain. His brother seemed to sense the increased pain—soft strokes feathered his temples, soothing, and some of the pain backed away from the touch. "Painkillers should kick in soon, man. Try to go back to sleep. You'll feel better when you wake up."

And though he didn't remember taking anything, couldn't even imagine a time without pain, he found himself trusting anyway…and drifted off into darkness.


	5. flight

_I'm really sorry you've had to wait so long for this update. I had hoped to get a chapter up before leaving on vacation, but got sick and wasn't able to. I apologize for the delay. There are only a few chapters of the story left, and I plan to update regularly again from here on out. Thanks for your patience, for the gentle nudges, and for the reviews, favorites, and alerts. It means a lot to me that you're still reading._

_I just posted a one-shot that I wrote recently for a fanfic contest. It's called "Touched by Fire." I'd love to hear what you think._

**Always With You**

V.

The dream took him again, ripping away peaceful slumber and shoving him into nightmare.

_There was no point in trying to escape—the creature was too fast and the rocky cliff afforded no hiding places. He would stand his ground and hope he could keep the thing busy long enough for his brother to get away. He hollered at the other man to run, spared him a gaze he hoped would convey all the things he'd never been able to voice, the love and devotion he'd tried to show but never say. _

_The hunter stared back at him, horror and anguish twisting his features, and though the wild rush of wings was all he could hear, he knew his brother was screaming his name. He gave one last crooked smile then firmly planted his feet, eyes hardening as they moved back to the monster before him. At least he would go down fighting—a hunter, a _brother_, to the end. It was all he'd ever asked for._

_The creature loomed ever closer, malevolent and terrible, jagged fangs dripping with saliva as it neared its prey, the too-human face twisted in fury and anticipation. The blood of previous victims matted its stringy beard and its prehensile tail whipped the air. Shining obsidian claws reached for him… _

_When claws punctured the fleshy part of his shoulder, he nearly passed out from pain. Black spots jittered before his eyes. It only got worse as the bird lifted him off the ground, the entire weight of his body hanging from his impaled shoulders. _

_He saw his brother cast around for a weapon, abandon the search when nothing presented itself, and begin to run in his direction, clearly intending to stop the monstrous bird from carrying him off. They both knew there was nothing he could do against the creature, even if he _could_ make it there in time. Still, the hazy figure sprinted toward where the bird hovered tauntingly close to the ground, though he'd clearly told his brother to run while he provided a distraction. Just for_ once,_ couldn't he do what he was told? _

_With a lightning-sharp crack, the whiplike tail snapped out and hit the hunter across the chest, knocking him to the ground and away. Worried, he craned his neck to get a look and noted with relief that his brother seemed okay. He was already getting back to his feet, though what he intended to do against a giant bird with impenetrable scales was unclear. Maybe talk it to death. He smirked at the thought, but his amusement quickly died when the creature began to rise into the air._ _Vertigo hit and he had to close his eyes for a moment. The creature was preparing to fly away with him, to take him back to its cave for dinner, where he'd no doubt be the guest of honor…and _not_ in a good way. Sharp black fear sliced his gut._

_He twisted, trying frantically to break the grip of the large bird, struggling to pry its claws from him, beating at its talons with his fists, though every movement of his arms brought excruciating pain. He watched as the powerful wings lifted again in flight and exposed the soft, scaleless skin beneath them. Too bad he didn't have a weapon on him. Or did he? _

_Sorting through his mental weapons catalog centered him. There was the knife in his boot, but no way he'd be able to reach the vulnerable spot from where he dangled beneath the bird's claws. It was too far up to the wing area, and he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. He discarded that idea._

_Continued assessment brought him to the hard lump at the small of his back. Since it was useless against the thing's scales, he'd forgotten it was even there. Now he reached one arm back to grab his favorite gun. His scream of pain at the movement was drowned out by the harsh beating of wings and the virtual wind tunnel they produced. _

_Grasping the gun's reassuring weight in his hand, he looked at the ground, gauging the distance. If this worked—and he had no reason to think it would, there was no indication iron could kill something like this—he would fall right onto the rocky cliff below. That would hurt, no doubt about that, but they weren't so far up yet that it would kill him. The bird had been circling low to the ground, apparently showing off its prize to his frantic brother below. Taunting him. Maybe trying to decide how it could take them both at once._

_He briefly weighed his options—falling hard onto solid rock and possibly breaking half the bones in his body…or getting turned into dinner for Big Bird here, who would strip the skin from his bones and eat him alive, essentially turning him into one _very_ handsome Happy Meal. Put that way…there was no contest. _

_He brought the gun up and steadied it as best he could, though his shoulder muscles trembled and jerked from pain and exertion. He had to time it just right, for the few moments the wings were lifted and the vulnerability exposed. Counting off, he breathed out a prayer to a God he wasn't even sure he believed in, and carefully squeezed the trigger, emptying the entire magazine of consecrated iron rounds directly into the soft spot under the giant bird's wing. The recoil jarred his arms, shoulders; the world went hazy white. He managed, just __barely, __to hold onto his gun with mostly-numb fingers__. But maybe, just this once, the notorious Winchester Luck would fail to manifest. _

_As slugs pierced exposed skin like darts through paper, the monster froze mid-flight, letting out a startled screech at the unexpected jolt. Clearly, it hadn't anticipated prey fighting back so effectively—perhaps had come to believe itself invincible after all these years. It faltered, large body beginning to shake violently as it shrieked in agonized fury. Its talons instinctively squeezed, then released. He gasped in pain at the sudden removal of pressure from his shoulders and everything went black. When his vision cleared, he wished it hadn't. He was falling fast, the world whizzing by in a blur. _

_Huh. Maybe this would work after all. _

_It was his last thought before he hit the ground rolling and his head bounced on solid rock._


	6. always with you

_There'll be one more chapter after this one, an epilogue to tie up the loose ends._

**Always With You**

VI.

He knew he was dreaming; knew, too, that dream was memory. _Green scales flashed bright as emeralds in the strong afternoon sun. A shriek like ripping metal filled the air. _Yes, he knew this, knew what happened next. The man on the cliff—his brother—was in danger. He couldn't get to him in time, but he knew—just _knew_—that if he could only see his face, he'd remember everything; would wake up once and for all. Why couldn't he see his face?

_Green scales flashed bright as emeralds in the strong afternoon sun. A shriek like ripping metal filled the air. Trees bent and snapped under the force of wing-compressed wind. Eyes, blood-red and ancient, glittered menace while a long tail sliced the sky. The enormous bird went into a dive, headed right for the hunter on the cliff. _When he tried to focus on the hunter's face, the man shimmered, blurred, became a child—a boy, small and defenseless, looking to him with wide, trusting eyes. He had to protect the boy, had to _save him._ Nothing else mattered. No matter what it took, _nothing else mattered._ The child shimmered, turning back into a man. The brother he'd been seeing all along.

_Green scales flashed bright as emeralds in the strong afternoon sun. A shriek like ripping metal filled the air. Trees bent and snapped under the force of wing-compressed wind. Eyes, blood-red and ancient, glittered menace while a long tail sliced the sky. The enormous bird went into a dive, headed right for the hunter on the cliff. _

_A warning exploded from his lips and he picked up speed, frantic to reach the hunter—his brother—before the creature did. He ran, legs burning, lungs bursting, another desperate cry tearing from his throat. The man on the cliff turned to face him at the shouted warning. His features blurred, shimmered…then clicked into place, surprise and fear mingling in his expression._ And it all came rushing back, until he was drowning in memories.

_A warm, heavy weight in his arms as he ran from his burning house…sleeping wrapped around a baby, using his own body as a shield against terror in the night…a gap-toothed toddler taking his first steps toward him…a little boy chewing his pencil as he gave his homework all the intense concentration he could muster, too-long hair flopping over one eye…a teenager grinning at him with dimpled pride after making a bullseye with the new weapon…a young adult boarding a bus, riding away from him…a grown man whose face echoed fierce determination when he said he wasn't going to let him die. _And he knew. He knew who the man on the cliff was. He knew who _he_ was. He knew everything now.

_Green scales flashed bright as emeralds in the strong afternoon sun. A shriek like ripping metal filled the air. Trees bent and snapped under the force of wing-compressed wind. Eyes, blood red and ancient, glittered menace while a long tail sliced the sky. The enormous bird went into a dive, headed right for the hunter on the cliff. Headed right for Sam. "Sammy!!"_

Dean awoke with a hoarse shout, his brother's name on his lips. Sam was instantly at his side, calming him, coaxing him to lie back down, to take it easy. Dean resisted, though his head still swam with pain and memories and his breath came in harsh pants that made the claw marks on his torso burn like a brand. "S'mmy?"

"I'm here, Dean. I've gotcha."

"Y' 'kay?" Dean's eyes intently searched his little brother's face for signs of pain, but couldn't see much in the dimness of the room. "Where's th' light?"

"Dean, the light'll hurt your eyes," Sam protested softly. "You've got a pretty bad concussion, been out of it for days."

"Wan' th' light," Dean insisted, needing to see his brother's face. He felt a trickle of panic. How could he have forgotten Sammy? What if the next time he woke up, he'd forgotten everything again, was back in that darkness where he couldn't even remember his brother's face? "Light," he repeated, voice stronger now but with a frantic edge he couldn't quite suppress. He struggled again to sit up, to reach the switch on the bedside lamp himself.

Sam heaved a long-suffering sigh, but turned on the lamp—though not before pulling it as far from his brother's sensitive eyes as the cord would allow.

The light pierced Dean's eyes like fangs meant to draw blood and he had to shut them for a minute against the shards of pain driving deep into his skull. Eventually the shooting pain died down and he re-opened his eyes to slits, letting them adjust incrementally to the brightness. He felt them water and clumsily reached up to wipe the moisture away. It was disturbing how tired the simple gesture left him, arms heavy with exhaustion, shoulders aching from the exertion.

When he could focus his eyes again without too much discomfort, Dean looked at Sam and repeated his most pressing question. "Y' okay?" He drank in the familiar sight of his brother's face, eyes tracing lines and features he knew better than his own, feeling the last missing piece click back into place.

"I'm fine, man," Sam softly reassured. "You're the one who was almost takeout for Big Bird."

Dean huffed a mix between laugh and groan, but relaxed and allowed the younger man to gently push him back against the pillows and lift a glass of water to his lips, from which he drank thirstily. He grabbed onto Sam's shirtsleeve though, when his little brother went to leave his bedside, not willing to be separated again so soon after getting him back.

When Sam moved to grab the med kit he'd been re-stocking, intent on getting Dean more pain pills, he was surprised to feel Dean grab his sleeve. He looked down to see his brother's fingers twisted in the soft flannel of his shirt and slowly sank back into the chair he'd long since dragged over to Dean's bedside.

Sam's expression softened as he studied his big brother's face, which was still much too pale, making his freckles stand out in stark relief against his skin. The green eyes, still shadowed with fever and pain, hadn't left him for a second. They were more lucid than they'd been in days and Sam felt the panicky pressure in his chest, which had been building since Dean had first woken not knowing who he was, begin to bleed away…a nightmare at morning's light. He felt like he could breath again for the first time since he'd carried his brother's bloody body into the emergency clinic a couple of towns over. Dean was going to be okay. It was everything that mattered.

Dean was studying him, as if trying to memorize his face. Sam could sympathize—he couldn't imagine how disorienting the last few days had been for his brother. He looked like he wanted to say something, but didn't know quite how. Sam raised a brow in question.

When Dean spoke, he sounded pained, as if making a dreadful confession. "Lost ya for a while there, Sammy."

Sam knew he was talking about more than just what had happened out on that cliff. So he just smiled gently and patted his brother's chest, directly over his heart. "Naw, man. I was with you all the time."

And remembering the dream—_memory_—and the sense of connection he'd felt to his brother, even when he hadn't known he'd _had_ a brother…the desperation he'd felt to save him…the instinctive willingness to lay down his life for him, Dean nodded. Sam was right.

He'd been with him all the time.


	7. epilogue

_Thanks to everyone who's stuck with this story, especially those who've reviewed, added it to their favorites, or put it on alert. Your support for this little "experiment" has been a huge encouragement.  
_

_I hope you'll let me know what you think of this chapter, and the story as a whole, even if you've never reviewed before._

**Always With You**

VII.

"C'mon, dude, rise and shine! I am _so_ ready to put this state behind us." Dean's voice was obnoxiously cheery for the time of morning and Sam had to fight the urge to throw something at him. But he was glad that his brother was feeling better, and he'd known this was coming, so he just sighed dutifully and rolled out of bed.

In the days since Dean's fever had broken and his memory returned, he'd been rarin' to go. Sam figured he was lucky to have convinced Dean to stay in town long enough to recover from the worst of his injuries. Since Dean wasn't the most cooperative patient at the best of times, Sam thought it best not to push his luck any further.

Minutes later, they were settled in the Impala. Dean had grudgingly let Sam take the wheel because he was still experiencing some blurred vision and vertigo left over from the concussion. Not to mention that he still wanted to pass out every time he moved his arms. At least the infection from the bird's filthy claws had passed.

"So…Piasa Bird, huh?" Dean ventured as they made their way out of town.

"Yeah, guess so."

"Thought the Indians killed them off a long time ago."

Sam shrugged. "Guess they missed one. Or it migrated. We're a little east of where they were first seen."

"Huh. Hey—y'think they're where dragon legends come from?" Dean pondered.

"Yeah, maybe. There _are_ a lot of similarities between the two." It'd be worth checking into, Sam decided, intrigued by the idea. Maybe the birds had been more widespread than they'd always believed.

"Flying—why's it _always_ gotta be flying?" Dean groaned, shuddering at the memory of those too-long moments when he'd been airborne. He silently vowed not to hunt anything with wings _ever_ again. His feet were staying firmly on the ground from now on.

"Nobody told you to charge a 20-foot man-eating bird. What'd ya think it was gonna do?" Sam countered mildly, trying not to smile at his normally fearless brother's phobia. To be fair, Dean's recent flying experiences _had _been fairly craptastic. Though it'd been long enough now that they could begin to joke about it, Sam still had nightmares about his brother being carried off in those terrible talons, far beyond where Sam could reach. "Seriously, man. It's a miracle you didn't break something—or worse—falling the way you did."

The memory of that fleeting half-breathed prayer he'd uttered before shooting the bird surfaced, but the thought made him uncomfortable so Dean shoved it back down and covered it with his usual snark. "Yeah, well, next time I see some bird tryin' to make a man-wich out of you, you're on your own. _I'm_ not jumpin' in front of you," Dean warned grumpily.

Sam snorted. "Yeah you are." He did smile then, a grin of amused affection. Few things in his life could be counted on, but his big brother's protectiveness definitely topped the list. Even when Sam would've wished otherwise, he knew that would never change.

"Yeah," Dean sighed gloomily, "I guess I am. Freakin' Big Bird."

Sam just shook his head, still smiling, as he turned his attention back to the road. Dean ever underestimated his importance to Sam, but this experience had shaken the younger man far more than he'd let on. Dean not knowing him had felt disturbingly like being lost in a large dark wood, not knowing the way home and not sure anyone would come looking.

In more ways than one, his big brother anchored him, and Sam didn't want to think about how he would've coped if Dean's memory had been gone for good. He'd missed Dean in the few days he'd been out of it, missed him like you'd miss an arm suddenly severed, though he hadn't been further than a few feet from his brother the entire time. But Dean was awake now, and back to his normal obnoxious, overprotective, snarky self_—thank God—_and Sam felt the relief of being _known _again warm him from the inside out.

Dean was home now…they both were.

************************************************************

_Special thanks to Miyo86 for the picture of the "real__"__ Piasa birds and to her ancestor for writing the story down.  
_

_Now that this story is finished, I'll begin regular updates again to "The Soul Collector." It's an action/adventure hurt/comfort fic where Dean gets taken in the aftermath of a hunt gone wrong. I really hope you'll all check it out._


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